UC-NRLF 


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pot. 


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m  MEM0RIAM 
George   Davidson 


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V  POEM, 

ON  THE  OCCASION   OF  A  DINNER 

GIVEN   IN   CELEBRATION   OF 

l^ijef  €tDentp^firj0et  25irtfjtiap 

BY    MR.    H.    H.    FURNESS,   JR.,    TO   DIVERS   OF 
HIS  FRIENDS. 


YOUNG'S   HOTEL,    FEB.    13.   1886. 


LLOYD    McKIM    GARRISON. 


PRIVATELY   PRINTED. 

WILLIAM    H.    WHEELER,   PRINTER, 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASS. 


Ulh 


POEM,         ^ 

ON  THE  OCCASION   OF  A  DINNER 


t_^<r>^ 


GIVEN    IN   CELEBRATION   OF 


J^i^  €tDcntp^ftrjeft  25irtJjDap 


BY    MR.    H.    H.    FURNESS,    JR..    TO   DIVERS   OF 
HIS   FRIENDS. 


YOUNG'S    HOTEL,    FEB.    13,    1886. 


LLOYD    McKIM    GARRISON. 


PRIVATELY    PRINTED. 

WILLIAM    H.    WHEELER,    PRINTER, 

CAMBRIDGE,   MASS. 


HORACE    HOWARD    FURNESS,   Jr- 


POEM 


I. 


Prologue. 


Ye  Poet  sing- 
eth  of  ye  Olden 
Time. 


In  those  old  days, — the  boyhood  of  the  world, — 

When  lazy  goatherds  piped  melodious  strains 
To  languid  nymphs  on  mossy  couches  curled  ; 

When  rosy  maidens  with  their  awkward  swains 
Wandered  among  the  vales  of  Arcady, 

Tasting  a  mild,  Platonic  sort  of  love, 
Such  as  one  sees  on  antique  pottery, — 

A  blushing  couple,  and  two  cooing  doves 
Perched  overhead,  to  signify  how  chaste 
Is  Daphnis'  arm  round  Chloe's  gentle  waist : — 


II. 


Ye  Poet  sing- 
eth  of    Modern 


In  those  old  days,  I  say,  did  one  but  know  it, 
Without  regard  for  rules  of  rhyme  or  metre, 

The  very  meanest  rustic  was  a  poet, 

And  John,  untaught,  sang  songs  divine  to  Peter: 
impiety  and  ye  I3^,t  now,  whcu  Mother  Earth  looks  mournfullv 

dilhculty  of  Po- 
etizing. At  her  fair  bosom  scarred  by  impious  men  ; 

Each  sparkling  stream  fouled  by  a  factory, 

And  each  tall  forest  turned  into  a  fen  ; 

She  scorns  to  nourish  all  the  poet  host. 

And  chills  them  to  the  heart  with  nipping  frost. 


ivi^90195 


III. 


Ye 
ctl 


Ye  Poet  sing-  And  tlic  pooi"  musc,  ne'er  pi-aiscd  but  always  blamed 

cm  of  ye  Muse 

iind  begsjTcth  In-        B\'  the  rudc  cvowd  which  pushed  and  fought  around  her, 

dul'j^ence  for  her 

andhyrn.  Flcd  from  the  cruel  earth,  her  soft  arms  lamed 

By  the  harsh  rules  with  which  grammarians  bound  her. 
And  now,  if  from  her  melancholy  eyes 

Upon  some  favorite's  page  she  drop  a  tear, 
A  loud  dispute  arises  round  the  prize 

From  the  great  uninspired  ; — your  poet  here 
In  vain  indulgence  from  the  muse  implores, 
And,  poring  o'er  his  rhymester,  strives  for  yours. 


END    OF   YE    PROLOGUE. 


Ye  Poet  now   But  to  turn  from  this  musmg,  with  delicate  wit, 

turneth     to     ye  i •     i      i  • 

Gang.  Let  s  look  at  ourselves  lor  a  wee  little  bit ; 

Ye  Poet  singeth   Hcrc's  my  excellent  chum  who  appears  just  as  grave 

ofhysChuni.ve  ^  ,.■.,,, 

esteemed  Mr.  G.   As  thougli  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  behave 

H.  Brewer.  ^  °  ,  ,  ,        ,  ,  ,         i 

Like  a  sour  old  monk  ;  but  these  monks,  let  me  say, 
Were  terribly  apt  to  get  goatful  and  gay  ; 
And  when,  once  in  a  while,  Graham  gets  oil'  his  level. 
Take  the  word  of  his  chum,  he's  a  regular  devil ! 
But  Graham  is  winking,  which  means  I  must  stop. 
For  I  fear  his  commands  more  than  those  of  a  cop  ; 
Here  he  recount-   go  x'll  show  you  the  ucxt  man  I'll  put  to  the  blush  ; 

eth  ye  praises  ot  •'  ^ 

Mr.  R.  II.  Fill-   'Tis  he  who's  so  quick  with  his  i^cncil  and  brush. 
And  who,  on  account  of  his  nest  up  in  Thayer, 
Is  supposed  to  be  helped  by  the  sprites  of  the  air 
In  his  paintings  and  verses, — and  what  is  still   finer, — 
They  say  that  his  muse  is  the  spirit  of  Heine  ! 


He  is  one  of  these  modest,  retiring  men 
Tliat  have  to  be  looked  for  with  lanterns,  and  when 
You  have  finally  found  'em,  who  shiver  with  fright 
As  they  find  themselves  suddenly  brought  into  light ; 
And  Rob,  had  he  always  been  left  to  himself, 
Would  be  still  hid  away  on  some  dusty  old  shelf 
With  other  rare  bric-a-brac,  centuries  old. 
Which  brings  fabulous  prices  when  found  out  and  sold  ; 
But  modest  men  wince  when  they  hear  themselves  praised, 
And  Rob's  getting  more  and  more  nervous  and  dazed  : 
Next,  those   So  I'll  tum  to  the  next  man,  our  sly  little  Frank, 

of  Mr.    F.    W.  ,  1  r  1 

Knowics,  Who  always  is  up  to  some  deuce  ot  a  prank, 

But  who  always  has  managed  to  neatly  evade 
The  chapters  unpleasant  of  each  escapade  ; 
And  who  comes  up  with  temper  as  sugared  as  honey 
To  waltz  on  the  fragments  of  Mrs.  Jane  Mooney. 
He's  a  poet  himself,  is  this  same  little  coxswain. 
With  a  muse  that's  as  stout  as  a  couple  of  oxen — 
To  get  a  good  rhyme  to  that  word  is  what  knocks  one — 
And  last  summer  he  steered  our  bold  'SS  crew 
To  signally  vanquish  the  white  and  the  blue. 
But  Frank's  getting  tired  of  hearing  his  praises 
Sung  by  any  one  else  than  by  oxen-eyed  daises. 
Also  finding   So  I'll  talk  to  this  quiet  young  chap  on  my  right 

ofMr.c.j.Liv-   Who  hardly  has  spoken  a  word  here  to-night ; 

'"S"o  •  jjg,g  ^  ^g^.y  gQQfj  fellow  this  warbler  from  Swarthmore 

Though,  Charlie,  I  really  do  think  }  ou  might  talk  more  : 
But  we'll  try  to  excuse  you,  provided  you  sing 
"Rosalie,"  "Yale  Men  Say,"  and  (of  course)  "Ching-a  Ling 
But  talking  of  singing,  and  musical  men 
He  bestoweth   Here's  our  wandering  minstrel, — the  jocular  Ben  ! 

some      remarks  .       \  .  ^    a     !.•    j. 

upon    Mr.     B.   He  s  a  warbler,  pianist,  cornetist,  and  Hutist, 
.irpcn  cr.  Bass-drummcr,  rum-tnmmer,  and  general  tootist 

On  all  kinds  of  instruments,  wooden  or  brass. 
Which  he  plays  in  the  yard  while  you  lie  on  the  grass 
Of  a  warm  summer's  evening  when  Yale  is  laid  low 
When  tlie  crackers  explode  and  the  red  fires  glow. 


Mr.     W.     H. 

Furncss,3d,get- 
teth  his  share 
also. 


Henext  admin- 
istereth  merited 
reproof  to  Mr- 
P.  L.  Stern- 
bergh, 


Incidentally 
mentioning  Mr. 
F.J.Reynolds. 


He  luggeth  in  a 
personal  griev- 
ance. 


And  toyeth  with 
Mr.  W.  M.  Van 
Heusen. 


He  calleth  atten- 
tion to  Messrs. 
S.  Emery,  G.  A. 
Carpenter,  and 
C.  Kcstner. 


But  there's  one  horn  which  even  our  Ben  has  not  blown, — 

For  'tis  Harwood  the  graceful  who  toots  the  trombone. 

And  now  Billy  is  laughing  which  means  that  he's  trying 

To  catch  some  of  the  honeyed  remarks  I  am  shying. 

You  can  tell  by  a  glance  at  his  roguish  brown  eyes 

That  he's  just  been  remarking, — "Ah  there,  just  my  size!" 

To  the  telephone  girls,  or, — it  isn't  a  sin, — he 

Has  been  to  the  "  Coop"  casting  sheeps'  eyes  at  Minnie; 

There's  nothing  he  cares  for  but  girlies,  and  really 

The  girls  on  their  side  are  just  doating  on  Billy. 

All  this  time  our  young  Webster  from  Holworthy  four 

Has  scowled  at  his  plate,  and  looked  fierce  at  the  door. 

He's  a  terrible  fellow  for  knocking  to  pieces 

All  a  fellow's  best  points  in  a  speech  or  a  thesis ; 

And  when  no  one  else  can  be  found  to  debate 

He  launches  unuttered  rem.arks  at  his  plate  ; 

And  with  scorn  that  has  seldom,  if  ever  before. 

Failed  to  crush  an  opponent  when  Pearl  has  the  floor. 

He  looks  speechless  contempt, — at  tlie  dining-room  door  ! 

This  has  made  his  chum  laugh,  and  his  chum,  let  me  tell  you 

Is  too  much  of  a  wise  and  responsible  fellow 

To  go  making  up  weak  and  "  sarcastical  "  verses 

About  me,  till  he's  ordered  the  blackest  of  hearses 

To  carry  away  his  remains, — for  you  know  it's 

A  dangerous  thing  to  go  fooling  with  poets  ! 

There's  Van  who's  been  aimlessly  handling  his  spoon 

While  he  cribbed  a  fresh  joke  for  the  musty  Lampoon  ; 

But  there's  no  use  provoking  so  doughty  a  fighter, 

For  his  wit's  as  bright  as  my  own,  if  not  brighter. 

Now  all  this  while,  Sheldon  and  Sandy  and  Kess, 

Have  been  busy  concocting  tlie  deuce  of  a  mess 

In  their  little  insides,  and  I'm  ready  to  swear  at 

The  gluttonous  way  they've  been  guzzling  the  claret ; 

But  Sandy  has  always,  since  the  very  first  year, 

Had  a  terrible  penchant  for  Hpiri'ts^ — and  beer. 


He  then  ad- 
dresseth  himself 
to  Mr.  H.  H. 
Furness,  Jr.,  to 
whom  he  dedi- 
cateth  his  rhyme 


And  finisheth 
in  a  mild  raid 
on  the  "  Pom- 
merv." 


Well,  enough  of  you  fellows,  you're  all  of  you  jolly, 

But  I'll  leave  further  praises  to  Maud,  Nell  or  Polly  ; 

And  turn  to  old  Horace,  our  host  here  to-night, 

Who's  as  virtuous,  courteous,  suave  and  polite. 

Wise,  dignified,  courtly,  sarcastic  and  keen. 

As  that  old  Roman  Horace  we've  read  with  the  Dean. 

Old  man,  you  have  asked  us  to  come  here  to-night, — 

With  a  sort  of  Memorial-sharp  appetite, — 

To  this  glorious  feast,  and  we'll  wish  when  we're  done. 

That  we  were  the  next  to  become  twenty-one. 

In  vain  do  I  struggle  and  strive  to  express 

The  varied  emotions  which  throng  to  my  breast. 

For  my  muse  is  a  coy  young  maiden,  who'll  lend 

Not  one  wee  drop  of  gush  to  besprinkle  a  friend : 

But  in  spite  of  the  jade  here's  a  rattling  old  toast 

"  To  THE    BEST    OF    GOOD    FELLOWS, OUR   FRIEND   AND    OUR 

HOST  !" 


THE    END. 


GAYLAMOUNT 

PAMPHLET  BINDER 

Manu/aclured  by 
6AYLORD  BROS.  Inc.  i 

Syracut*,  N.  Y. 
Stoohton,  Calif. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


